Magnolia on a Rainy Day
by Tinka
Summary: Dying words unlock lonely hearts.


TITLE: Magnolia on a Rainy Day (1/1)  
AUTHOR: Tinka (tinka100@hotmail.com)  
CLASSIFICATION: S, MSR, Minor Character Death  
RATING: PG  
SPOILERS: All pre-S6. Should be safe for all.  
SUMMARY: Dying words unlock lonely hearts.  
ARCHIVE: Bluefroggie & Gossamer, yes. All others, please ask.  
DISCLAIMER: Nope, not mine (apart from Nicola).  
NOTES: This one's for Penelopody. She knows why.  
  
--  
  
"Tell Day that I love her. I never stopped loving her."  
  
The words come from a hospital bed. A man says it so quietly that I  
fear for a second that I misunderstood him. I dislike the patients  
saying things like that. It means they are giving up hope of  
recovery. They are giving up their will to fight for their lives. I  
never thought this guy would pull through, but I prayed he would. It  
is one of the worst sins to commit as a nurse, but I have let myself  
become attached to him.  
  
A woman brought him in two weeks ago. She had found him by the  
roadside. Another random shooting. Money and watch stolen. We found  
his driver's license and quickly matched it with his records. He had  
no next-of-kin, no one to notify. At least his records were blank,  
and so was his memory. He could talk coherently for the first week.  
I felt sorry for him. I liked the way that his hair fell down on his  
forehead. I liked his intelligence, his humor. It is hard to believe  
that no one has ever cared for him. Despite his wounds and his  
critical condition, he was still a special guy. His eyes danced  
merrily when I brought him supper and spent an extra little time  
arranging his pillows.  
  
So, he has loved someone. Day. I watch him as his eyes shut and his  
mouth contracts from the pain. He will not last the night. I know the  
signs so well. The ashen skin, the eyes slowly becoming opaque. I  
cannot help myself as I gently intertwine my fingers with his. He  
sighs softly and mumbles a thank you. His words are becoming  
unintelligible. And I should know better than to cry over him, but my  
tears fall down upon our joined hands.  
  
--  
  
Their heads turn in unison as I enter their office. One brown head  
and one red. Instinctively they're presenting a united front against  
me. I understand. I'm their boss.  
  
"Agents."  
  
Mulder acknowledges me with a nod, while Scully merely leans back  
against the table waiting for the latest bad news. I have one hell of  
a thankless job.  
  
"I'm afraid I have bad news."  
  
She is not surprised. Mulder looks almost bored. I try to remain  
calm, although I know the impact my next words are going to have.  
  
"Agent Scully. A fax has just come through to my office. Your brother  
Charles Andrew Scully is dead."  
  
Another family member lost. They hardly have anyone left. I suppose  
they have each other, although *that* is just another rumor. I look  
at her with my best tough guy demeanor. She is pale, but appears  
unfazed. I shouldn't be surprised at her reaction, she has always  
remained calm under pressure. But, Jesus, it's her brother.  
  
"Can I see the fax, sir?"  
  
"Sorry, but that is impossible Agent Scully. It is highly  
confidential. I can show you his medical report. That is all I am .."  
  
"Confidential?"  
  
Mulder is quick to catch what I have tried mumbling. For some odd -  
and in these circumstances incredibly uncomfortable - reason, the  
Higher Powers have labeled it confidential. I tried digging a bit  
earlier on, but red tape prevented me going any further. But I'm  
never going to admit that to my agents.  
  
"Yes. I cannot give you any further information. I'm sorry."  
  
I think I've apologized more in the space of five minutes than I have  
for the last five years. But it is a hell of a message. And she just  
looks at me. Mulder is doing his best protective stance coupled with  
a fair bit of paranoia. She just looks at me.  
  
--  
  
I asked whether I could participate in his funeral. The coroner looked  
surprised but agreed saying no one else would show up. It rains as my  
patient's coffin is lowered into the ground. The raindrops hide my  
tears for a man I never knew. The ceremony quickly draws to close and  
I put a magnolia by the tombstone. Its creamy, silky petals caress the  
rough stone.  
  
Charles Andrew Scully 1963-1999.  
"And to make an end is to make a beginning.  
The end is where we start from."  
  
My patient had that quote written on a piece of paper tucked away in  
his purse. Perhaps it was his favorite quote. Perhaps not. Who am I  
to say? My shoes are filling up with rain and I stare up at the skies  
as if searching for answers. He had no one. Much like me. I have  
lived here for two years, and all I have is a semi-furnished  
apartment with a damn goldfish. I bite back the tears like I always  
do. At least I can pay last respects to a nice guy by being here.  
Perhaps that makes a slight difference in the big picture.  
  
--  
  
"This reeks, Scully."  
  
I am fuming and I know it. She is stoically preparing dinner for us,  
while I go over her brother's death certificate again and again.  
  
Caucasian Male. Shot to pieces on a highway in the middle of nowhere.  
  
It says so much in nice, precise medical terms. It is signed by a  
doctor who has worked in the hospital for the past 26 years. It all  
adds up so neatly that I am on the verge of throwing up.  
  
Another Scully bites the dust. I cynically count how many family  
members Scully has lost while working with me. Three. Four, if you  
count little Emily. And I think you should.  
  
She keeps slicing and dicing the vegetables, but her shoulders shake  
a tiny bit. I walk over and wrap my arms around her. She puts her  
knife down and starts to cry. I softly kiss the tears away. I hate to  
see her cry - it nearly undoes me every time - but Scully should be  
crying at a time like this. Her knees give way beneath her and I  
catch her, like I once promised her I always would. She is so small,  
so tiny. I carry her to the sofa, where I sit down drawing her close.  
I can hear her heart beat. She curls up in my arms and I just wish I  
could protect her from the world.  
  
My leg accidentally brush the brown folder marked 'Scully, C.A.' off  
the table. She notices and her crying subsides, as she picks up the  
papers.  
  
"I want to see him, Mulder. I need to."  
  
I sigh and slowly rocks her like you would rock a child.  
  
"Are you sure it's a good idea?"  
  
"No, but it's the only idea I can hold in my head right now."  
  
--  
  
I never take any unnecessary risks. Mulder knows and Scully knows it.  
Yet, I'd be willing to risk almost anything for her. It is a weakness  
that I hope will not come back to haunt me.  
  
Scully materializes on our doorstep one late night. She is holding a  
bag of doughnuts and her face is scarred by a worried frown. She  
quickly explains the murky situation. Damn, another Scully wiped off  
the face of the earth. Naturally I offer our assistance. She should  
never expect anything less. And my heart shatters as she hides her  
face in her hands.  
  
We call Mulder when she will not stop sobbing. I think Charlie was  
her favorite brother - not surprisingly, if you ask me. Bill's a  
bastard. How's that for alliterative skill? So, Mulder comes over. We  
keep looking for truths that can not easily be found. Working a bit  
of that computer wizardly magic, to use Langley's expression. And I  
go out on a limb. Scully has calmed down and is curled up sleeping on  
our sofa. Mulder's eyes are expressionless as we finally stumble  
across Charlie's file. Of course it is placed in a way that anybody  
who wanted to trace us could easily do so. But they don't. And we  
have survived once more.  
  
She lies with her head in his lap, as Mulder reads the print-outs.  
Charlie wasn't an angel, pardon the pun. A high-ranking guy in the  
CIA. Shady connections in both the States and Europe. I wonder what  
he had told his family about his job. More or less the same that  
Scully tells them, I bet. Six months ago, Charlie wanted to leave.  
He was told he couldn't. He disappeared voluntarily, and remained out  
of sight until he turns up dead.  
  
Mulder fixes his eyes on me as he finishes reading.  
  
"What do we tell her?"  
  
I suddenly concentrate on eating the last remaining doughnut. I am  
honored that he wants my opinion, but I don't know what to do. I  
look at Mulder's hand gently stroking her hair. The easy rhythm of  
his hand. I don't know what the hell we should tell her. Lies will  
come back to haunt us all, truths will bruise her memory of Charlie.  
  
After a minute's silence, Mulder closes his eyes and looks older  
than he is. He bends his head and kisses her ear. She stirs, looks  
up at him and smiles sleepily. My buddy clears his throat.  
  
"Scully, we have found something.."  
  
I leave the room. It is not my place to be right now. It is theirs.  
It is Scully's.  
  
--  
  
I think I knew it the moment I first saw her. The hair is nearly the  
same color and the eyes are definitely the same. She is leaving the  
hospital, just as I am on my way to work. Sometimes I believe in  
Fate. I pick up my courage and approach her.  
  
"Are you Day?"  
  
Her mouth opens and closes, and I would have laughed had it been  
under different circumstances. A tall guy bounces down the stairs,  
but starts scowling when he sees her pale face.  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
He is virtually barking at me.  
  
"I'm Nicola Martyn. I'm a nurse here."  
  
I keep my chin up, being used to arrogant doctors. The woman lays a  
hand on his arm, and his scowl nearly disappears. What an unusual  
couple.  
  
"Yes. Yes, I'm Day. How did you know?"  
  
She speaks in a quiet, measured manner. I think she is used to  
dealing with strangers. There is nothing unsure about her.  
  
I check my watch.  
  
"I have to go to work. Can you come back tomorrow?"  
  
She hesitates. Her voice drops a notch.  
  
"Actually, I can't. Please. It is important to me."  
  
Her friend interrupts her.  
  
"Scully, I'll go see if Nurse Martyn can be excused for an hour or  
so."  
  
Scully. So I was right. It is a close relation. A sister, most  
likely. I extend my hand and she smiles for the first time.  
  
--  
  
We walk around the park. Scully and the young nurse walk in front of  
me. I'm discreetly watching their backs. I have no idea what I had  
expected to find here. CIA agents running around shooting everybody  
in sight? Skinner's silences and Frohike's computer magic had me  
imagining a battle field. I am so used to interpreting absences and  
erased words that I jumped to the worst conclusions. I am glad to say  
I was wrong. We were both wrong. There are no CIA agents, no foul  
air. Only a young, lonely nurse.  
  
Scully is asking questions about her brother. The young nurse is  
trying her best to answer them and asks her own questions in turn.  
My Scully explains that Charlie had been in the military for a long  
time. Somewhere along the way, they had lost contact. He was  
supposed to be looking for a ordinary job now. At least he had told  
their mother as much. Nicola Martyn looks sad. I suspect that she  
had been a bit too emotionally involved with her patient. She'll soon  
learn to hide her emotions - to keep them in check. I'm happy that  
she was around Charles Scully in his last minutes. I hope she gave  
him a bit of comfort. I hope she was a ray of light.  
  
Scully is tentatively asking to be shown his grave. The young nurse  
smiles understandingly. She says she was the only one to attend the  
funeral. Only I can read the heartbreak on Scully's face. Nicola  
Martyn does not notice, but starts walking towards the far end of  
the park. Scully waits for me and I place my hand on her back.  
Together we follow the nurse.  
  
I can no longer control myself as Scully kneels down by the  
graveside. I have seen her too many times in this situation. A single  
white magnolia graces the grave and I do not need to look at the  
young nurse to know who placed it there. A nice, thoughtful gesture.  
It would have been much worse to see an unadorned grave. And yes, I  
shed a tear alongside Scully.  
  
--  
  
So it all ends, although all ends are just new beginnings, like  
Charles Scully's scrap of paper said. I waved goodbye to his sister  
and her friend as they went home after paying their respects. He was  
not unloved after all. He had people who cared and who loved him.  
Maybe there is hope for me. The end is where I start from.  
  
--  
  
MORE NOTES: David Gray & Jeff Buckley provided my soundtrack on a  
lonely, Sunday night. T.S. Eliot provided the gravestone's epitaph.  
  



End file.
